


Thoughts Overheard

by Quakey (Quak3y)



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Biting (Chapter 4), Bondage (Chapter 4), Caning (Chapter 4), Canon-Typical Violence, Cock & Ball Torture (threatened -- Chapter 4), Dom top Nate, Dom/sub (Chapter 4), Fisting (Chapter 4), Imagined Colossus/Wade, M/M, Masturbation, Movie version Cable and Deadpool, Necrophilia (mentioned hypothetically but still there), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Referenced canon character death (Vanessa), Rimming (Chapter 3), Self Loathing, Sex Toys, Spanking (Chapter 3 & 4), Under-negotiated Kink, Wade’s filthy mouth and thoughts, power bottom nate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quak3y/pseuds/Quakey
Summary: 1: Wade wants to get off.  But it's hard--or more inconveniently, NOT hard--when so much reminds him uncomfortably of Vanessa.2: Nate hadn't planned on this, but it's difficult to ignore Wade when he's projecting so loudly.  Difficult to ignore how much Wade wants someone to make him hurt and how little he deserves that.3: an extra4: Wade needs some punishment and reward to work though his issues.





	1. One Handed, Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the moment happens--you’ll recognize it when you see it--just remember that Cable is canon telepathic and I bet he can pick up on strong mental images/thoughts near him.

Wade is following the path of lonely men everywhere. Wanking sad and alone in your sad and alone, cramped, slovenly bedroom. Hoping that your blind-ass roommate doesn’t hear.

Wade liked sex. Wade liked coming. Wade liked sex and coming with Vanessa.

Vanessa is dead.

Wade really doesn’t like sex or coming without Vanessa much at all.

But also like lonely men everywhere and whenever, if you don’t do something about the problem, it starts to get in the way. Literally. That suit is nothing if not skin tight, and while there’s a certain fun in freaking out the bad guys with a clearly visible erection while you’re slaughtering them -- hello, implied imminent necrophilia anyone? -- it also chafes like hell. And he really isn’t into necrophilia.

(On the delivering end. He’s willing to negotiate on the receiving end. And hey maybe that’s a thought worthy of the spank bank another time…)

The point, long and rambling that it is, is that it’s jerk off periodically or face inconvenient erections by day and/or wake up from wet dreams by night.

The theory is sound. The execution is harder.

Because if Wade puts his hand on himself and thinks of Vanessa … no boner. Or very, very sad boner. He jerked off imagining her once and cried for an hour afterwards. Just … no. Not again.

Trying to jerk off to random vaginas (hello, internet porn)? Reminds him of Vanessa.

Trying to use one of those stupid fleshlights? Looks like pussy. Reminds him of Vanessa. Damn it.

Apparently fantasies and anything remotely female reminds him of sex with Vanessa and is therefore off limits.

If you take roughly one half of the world’s population and subtract them from the equation, that leaves the male half of the world. And Wade is certainly okay with that. Surely among 3.8ish billion real-life men combined with whatever his fertile imagination can come up with, there will be someone hot that works.

A certain metal X-Man has figured prominently in a couple games of spank-the-meat so far. Big. Metal-hard and willing to lift him onto his gleaming cock. Let him ride until he blows his load on ridged silver abs and licks the cum off afterwards.

Except somehow his brain always managed to insert something so in character for Colossus. Chiding him for being too hard on himself. Hugging him afterwards and telling him he was doing so well. Or that sexual perversion is not overcome in a day and he is going to continue believing in Wade. Or being gentle and respectful and refusing to bend Wade in half or skip the lube for the sake of masochistic fantasy or... just … not sexy. So Colossus. Damn you, brain, for being so irresponsibly accurate.

Which leaves him like this: hard, frustrated, and wanking it based purely on sensation and unable to find a single fantasy human worth latching onto and needing a little extra help to get off.

Hence the large, vibrating, purple dildo he’s currently lubing up. ‘Cause if you’re going to be off pussy for the time being and in need of physical help getting off, you might as well do your fantasies of taking it up the ass 100% right.

He lubes himself up first, on his back, legs spread. Enjoys sliding in with his fingers, stretching his hole, imagining someone talking to him through it, degrading him for how eager he is. Flips over on his stomach with his ass in the air to slide in the dildo, humming along on it’s lowest setting. Fucks himself steady and deep and jerks himself with his other hand. Panting quietly, wishing he had someone to tell him all the demeaning things he wants to hear right now. He’s a slut for it. He’s not good enough. He deserves this, ass in the air, taking someone’s cock. Deserves to be banned from pussy for what he did to ‘Nessa.

God, if he had someone willing to do that.

The slam of the front door in the rest of the apartment is so startling, he almost loses his grip. He hears heavy steps muffled through the door and intervening space. Hears Al’s voice, then a different rumble. “Is he here?” Cable? Jesus fuck, Cable!

The images slam into his mind. Cable bending him over, whispering curses and deprecations in his ear. Cable ruthlessly pinning his hands behind his back with that fucked-up-strong arm. Cable laughing at him as he whimpers for more cock. Cable delivering a deserved, lengthy spanking to his wanton ass, leaving his cheeks red and stinging and then fucking him till he comes. Oh my god, _Cable!_

There’s a crash of something getting knocked over from the rest of the apartment and a strangely flustered-sounding Cable apologizing he thinks, and then, “Can I use your bathroom?” 

Oh good, he has a minute or two. Maybe just long enough to get off on this beautiful, so wrong, so right mental porn.

And get off Wade does. Flicks the vibrator up to the highest setting and fucks himself with it viciously while making the filthiest porno dialogue he can imagine in his head, all done up in Cable’s growly, sex voice. He doesn’t even have to try to imagine what it would sound like when Cable calls him a cunt, because he already knows and it’s glorious.

He shoves his face into the softness of a pillow so he can moan sluttily as he comes, feel the clench and flutter of his ass on the toy, feel wet spilling over his fingers. Switches off the suddenly _too much_ vibration and gingerly drags it out of his ass. Lying gasping next to a puddle of spunk--goddamn it why hadn’t he remembered to put down a towel first?--as his heart hammers and all the good hormones spread out through his blood from head to foot.

He hasn’t had such a toe-curling orgasm since....

Well, since Vanessa.

But at least he got to come before he managed to have that depressing thought. So, improvement.

Surprisingly he manages to clean up and find his suit and get into it and make it out into the main apartment area well before Cable comes out of the shared apartment bathroom. Guess the guy really had to go. Maybe Wade should feed him less fast food--can’t agree so well with that delicate future digestive system. Heh.

For some reason Cable seems less mouthy that usual. It actually takes several hours before he cracks his first sex toy, butt plug, or similar joke. Wade mentally shrugs. Everyone has off days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you’ve gotten 4am porn from me before. This is 2am porn--brain jolting me awake and not letting me sleep until I wrote it down. This kind of thing is why I’m a mess right now. Insomnia is bad for you, kids, don’t do it.
> 
> Also, when did I become an angst bunny, omg.
> 
> And lastly, I’m ignoring the part where Cable may not be able to pick up on Wade’s thoughts. Suspension of disbelief, people! It makes for better porn! I’m also ignoring the fact that I’m pretty sure Cable would be Wade’s _first_ choice for wank material. I repeat, suspension of disbelief!


	2. You're Projecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate's POV, because people asked for it and I got carried away.

Of all the things Cable expected when going to Wade’s run-down basement apartment, this had not made his list. Standing in the bathroom, knees locked, cock out and hard in his hand, techno-organic arm braced on the wall behind the toilet. He’s not even stroking, resisting with every fiber of his being as absolutely obscene images assault him.

He can’t figure Wade out, doesn’t know enough about him yet. He does know that the very first time he fought him, in the Ice Box, when Wade was wearing an inhibitor collar, his mind was plain to read. All the minds around him are generally open with just the lightest touch of his telepathy. Convenient in battle, when you can read the moves of a room full of soldiers straight out of their heads.

Then Wade smashed himself and the collar to pieces and … he almost disappeared from Nate’s mindscape. Yes, there’s a fuzzy presence there, but it shifts and evades reading. Like the nearsighted trying to read a street sign without glasses, like listening to a conversation while underwater, trying to smell anything through a head cold, touching with gloves on. Telepathic senses dulled or useless.

“Who are you?” he remembers breathing in surprise. It had been so long since he had found…. ‘a worthy opponent’ sounds so cliched, and yet, yes, that’s what Wade was. Someone he had to fight almost blind, one-on-one, truly equal. No one else would ever have been able to pull the pin on a grenade without him reading the intent. 

He could read Wade’s friends. Push all the sleazy bartender’s buttons to get him confessing every secret within minutes. Understand that the old woman, while showing a deep disdain for Wade, was also deeply fond of him. Read the puppy-like adoration from the cab driver.

But not Wade. Cable had to look at him, read his face, read his movements, not know his real motives until they turn into action. (Goddamn _hugging_ without warning. The lack of forewarning and unknown intentions had been part of why he'd reacted so poorly.)

He’d gotten used to Wade being an enigma. Something he couldn’t peek inside of.

Until this afternoon when he walked into the apartment Wade shared with Althea and was hit with a wave of lust. Wade-colored lust, if that made any sense. Thoughts have a certain sound to them, just like voices, a shape to them just like faces. This was Wade, he knew that. Wade, so open and thinking so loudly that even through the blur of his mind, Nate could hear him.

Oh god, could he ever hear him.

Images of _himself_ bending Wade over, pressed against his back, dominating him. Fucking him. Taunting him. Oh god, _spanking_ him. And shouted out in Wade’s mental voice were not just the images but the feelings of wantonness, guilt, arousal, lust. Bone deep desire for this fantasy.

He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to get to the bathroom without embarrassing himself, but now he’s here. And he’s riding out the waves of sex still coming from just a few walls away. Nate feels like such a voyeur, knows he should try to block it, except … Wade is imagining him talking down to him, calling him nothing but a pussy, a glorified sex toy, a cunt for Cable to fuck, a useless waste of human space, good for nothing but a place for Cable to shoot his load, don’t you understand, you dumb cunt?

Nate’s possibly never been so aroused in his life, but he is also horrified at how little Wade values himself in this fantasy, how much he seems to believe the degrading words the fantasy Nate is spewing.

When Wade orgasms, it sweeps him with it, without ever pumping his cock. He lets his come fall in the bowl and then turns around shakily and sits down heavily on the toilet lid. Catches his breath. Rearranges his thoughts. Wade has already faded, from that terrifyingly projected noise to basically nothing. He can ‘hear’ the soft mental noise of Al in the apartment as she shuffles around the kitchen. Not Wade. He’s back to being impenetrable.

Nate gets his breath back and then his composure. Stares at himself in the mirror until he’s sure his expression isn’t going to give anything away. Finally goes out to find Wade and ask him to help with his evening plans of breaking, entering, and interrogating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ‘incident’, as Nate thinks of it, was the start of something. As much as he’d thought he was aware of Wade before, he finds himself really and truly noticing Wade afterwards. Noticing in many ways, seeing many aspects.

It was impossible not to have noticed Wade’s particular brand of non-stop humor. As he’d said at the very beginning, he understood immediately and intuitively that Wade filtered his pain through the prism of humor. There’s a lot of humor that comes from Wade. Some of it is genuine, but a lot of it, especially the self-deprecating humor, is there to mask his pain. Wade has a lot of pain.

There are also flashes of sincerity. A desire, occasionally stated outright as though quoting someone--and Cable might be able to guess who, since Wade always seems subdued afterward--to be better than he is, to make sure his heart is in the right place, to be careful he’s fighting for the right reasons and the right people.

One thing he tries not to notice, yet he can’t help but note is Wade’s body, the way he moves, the bunch and play of muscles under that suit. He has no intention of acting on it. He hasn’t ‘heard’ anything more from Wade since the ‘incident’. Not a trace of that desperate want projected outward. As for the way Wade acts … well … he’s no more of a flirt than he was before? And the innuendos he drops seem to have as much to do with shock value and trying to deflect attention from his true feelings as anything serious, so Nate ignores them.

Besides, there’s a big difference between a dirty fantasy in the privacy of one’s own bedroom and reality. Many people find release in things they would never try with a partner in real life.

No, best to ignore it. He even censors his language a bit to give Wade fewer excuses for sexual jokes about the two of them. (Although he might claim that was because Domino looks unimpressed when he curses and Colossus looks scandalized and Russell looks like he’s taking goddamn notes for later use.) Until…..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

X-Force exists to take care of dirty business, and eliminating a sex trafficking ring that specializes in exotic-looking but otherwise powerless mutants is right up there at the top of Cable's list of dirty business worth eliminating. That humans, mutant or otherwise, can do such cruel things to each other horrifies him.

They go in silently using knives, silencers, and fists, plus katanas in Wade’s case  
and hit them hard in the dark. They’re trying to take down the traffickers without endangering their victims. Domino is a shadow within a shadow and manages to stay unseen. Cable knows he doesn’t have her agility or luck, but he does have experience and patience, stalking one target after another like a big cat on the hunt through the old, repurposed warehouse base of operations.

Wade... is Wade. He’s beautiful in his deadliness. Silent in his execution, but that’s partly because he literally duct taped his own mouth shut before the operation. Vicious in the spray of blood as he rips out yet another throat with a knife. Cable finds himself spending seconds at a time in between his own shots where he is admiring the way Wade moves, the effectiveness he brings to mayhem and silent death. And maybe he spends just a moment thinking about how Wade’s body would move without the red suit, somewhere more private. He banishes the thought immediately as an unwise distraction on a mission.

So it’s all going really well until someone realizes most of their underlings aren’t answering communications anymore. Suddenly there’s a lot of lights going on, shouting, panicked gunfire. Cable and Domino scatter behind cover, but Wade just strolls forward confidently, twirling one of his katanas. He’s softly humming some song or other that of course Cable doesn’t recognize, but he thinks it’s something he’s heard Wade sing before involving the word “strut”.

“Take him down!!” the traffickers are yelling, and bullet holes are blossoming on Wade right before he slices one and shoots the another. It’s all still salvageable and not that bad. Right up until someone releases the giant, mutated attack dogs.

The beasts are big as horses with teeth as long as a sabertooth cat’s. They’re sleek-furred and wolf-wild, with eyes that seem to glow as they race toward Wade. And they’re fast as they snap and lunge as he leaps and flips and tries to avoid them.

“Domino,” Cable shouts, “get up as high as you can and take those things out!”

She heads up into the rafters just as one of the mutated dogs gets their jaws around Wade’s legs and shakes him viciously back and forth. He goes flying and hits the edge of a shipping container head first with a crunch.

It takes Cable and Domino several minutes to manage to bring down all the dog things, which turns out to be the same amount of time it takes Wade to regrow brain matter. He surges upright, guns out and spraying bullets indiscriminately for a moment before he realizes the dogs are all down and out.

His partners dove for cover from the bullets. Domino stands up unscathed, but Cable is covered in blood all over his front from going to ground behind a giant, furred corpse.

“You fucking idiot!” he snarls as he surges upright again. “Are you trying to kill us, you careless shit?! I should take those guns and shove them right up your ass so you can’t do any more damage with them!”

And suddenly, there it is again. He feels a hot flash of mortification and shame. A response to what he'd said, emotions tuned to it like a resonant frequency of guilt and desire. The wave hits him, breaks, and then ebbs away and is gone again.

Wade shakes his head as if to clear it. Takes a deep breath. Holsters his guns, picks up his katanas, and gets back to work without a word.

It's over fairly quickly after that.

It turns out Wade is compassionate and surprisingly able to comfort or calm the men and women they rescue from the trafficker’s shipping containers. He’s utterly without judgement, just repeating “It’s not your fault”, listening to them, firmly but kindly leading them to the rendezvous with the X-Men’s Blackbird.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Nate says with grudging admiration as the mutants are being guided aboard by Colossus, “that you’d be good at that. I saw how you got through to Russell. Guess you have a knack for it.”

Again Wade doesn’t say anything, but Nate feels … That was interesting. Pleasure? Pride? With a thrilled undercurrent of embarrassed desire.

He’s not quite sure what he wants to do about this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again there’s a mission that goes sideways.

The other team members are all thrashing on the ground, screaming as though being burned alive, the psychic attack having taken them all out without a fight. Cable is blocking the telepathic projection from his mind with his own power, grimacing at the pain of the virus spiking while his telepathy isn’t available to dull it. Wade is unaffected by this telepath just as with Cable, so he’s probably the most effective of the two of them right now. Both of them are hiding behind an obligatory, large, scattered warehouse crate.

Wade tries sticking his head up to look around and all the assorted heavily armed minions start shooting. He ducks back as the wood explodes in showers of splinters around him.

Cable doesn’t think before doing it, just grabs Wade by the neck and irritably shoves him against the crate.

“Idiot! Don’t make them shoot this way! The others are in the line of fire!”

They’re nearly nose-to-nose and his teeth are bared in a snarl, and that’s when it happens yet again. This time it’s a projected slam of humiliation and horrified arousal. Wade’s straining backwards against the side of the crate, expression hidden in his mask and yet somehow clearly emoting something fearful and uncertain.

He cocks his head to one side. “This the most scared I’ve seen you look. Do you want me to back up?”

“No no no, stay stay, I like you in my space,” the other gasps, hands pulling ineffectively at Cable’s wrist. “Stay. Jump right in the pants.”

He nearly rips into those pants right there, whether out of anger or lust he’s not sure, but instead he just squeezes tighter, forcing Wade’s head further backward while he hisses, “We have a job to finish. Keep it together, you fucking boytoy.”

The surge of sheer, whimpering lust nearly knocks him over, yet Wade just huffs and nods and somehow Nate finds the self control to let go as if he has no idea what the other was just thinking.

Nate goes right, Wade goes over the top of the crate, and they keep the hail of bullets and energy blasts away from their teammates until Wade cuts the telepath’s head off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He waits. Waits through the cleanup. Waits through supporting Colossus and Domino and Yukio and Negasonic as they shake off the visions and get up and out of the place. Waits until Wade would usually head off on his own after a mission and just falls into step with him instead.

“I want to talk to you about something,” is all he says.

Wade’s body language doesn’t look particularly thrilled about this, but he nods. And as they make their way across the city it’s almost … comfortable. Wade is alternately silent and talkative about nothing in particular. Cable mostly listens, but occasionally points out or asks about something around him that is still a mystery to him in this time period. Wade seems to loosen up when he’s invited to explain the latest in pop culture to his time-stranded companion, and is chattering almost non-stop when they finally arrive at the shitty little basement apartment.

“Althea,” Cable greets Wade’s elderly roommate.

“Nate,” is Al’s response, both surprised and pleased. “I’m glad Wade is dragging someone with sense along with him. Do you want to sit? I could make some tea.”

“No thank you,” he declines. “Just came here to talk to Wade.” And then, “In private,” when no one seems to be moving.

Wade leads the way to his room, yanking off his mask and muttering something about not bringing just anyone back to his special little shithole and Cable should be flattered.

Once the door shuts behind them, Cable wastes no time.

“Do you know why we were immune to her attacks?”

“You mean, why the telepathic evil leader chick wasn’t able to take you down? No clue, and I don’t know why she couldn’t get me either. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a brain to invade, same as the next guy or girl.”

Cable takes a step closer. Decides to enjoy this.

“You know about my telekinesis. But did you know I’m telepathic?” he says calmly. “I fought fire with fire, so to speak. Was able to keep her out with telepathic shielding.”

Wade has frozen, is staring straight at him in the way that people with embarrassing secret thoughts tend to do when they realize there’s a telepath in the room. Sheesh, and people wonder why he doesn’t advertise the ability.

“I can’t read you,” he continues and sees the minute shift of Wade’s shoulders as some of that apprehension is lifted. “She couldn’t either. Your healing factor, it’s … weird. You’re literally a fuzzy blank spot in my mind.” Wade looks pathetically relieved, so Cable takes great enjoyment in baring his teeth in a feral smile and practically purring, “ _Unless_ you start projecting, and you were projecting a lot earlier. And a couple days ago. And a few weeks ago.” Wade’s face turns horrified and he mouths _oh shit_.

Two steps is all it takes in the small room for Nate to be in Wade’s personal space.

“You want me to fuck you. Don’t you?”

Wade is backing up hurriedly, but he just follows until the taller man hits the wall, presses himself against it like he thinks he’ll develop a secondary mutation for phasing through solid objects. Cable smirks at him from within arm’s reach. He tilts his head, takes his time looking at the face covered in scar tissue, lets his eyes linger on Wade’s lips.

“Unless you’re going to disappoint me and tell me it’s all just a fantasy? That you don’t want me using you, calling you names, making you worship my cock?”

 _There it is._ Panic and arousal, rising and curling together like incense. Nate’s eyes slip closed for a moment as his body instinctively takes a deep breath, as though Wade’s reaction really was something he could breathe deeper.

Wade swallows.

“I… I… don’t know. What about, uh, what about your wife?”

Ah, the excuses. “In my time, we know life’s fleeting. If someone you love dies, they aren’t going to hold it against you if you seek comfort with someone new.”

“But she’s not dead. You're not dead.”

“Neither of us can get to the other. Also, it’s possible to desire more than one person at a time.”

“We call that polyamory, mister time cowboy, and most people get a little conservative and uptight about it.”

Cable cocks his head in irritation. “Why does this time make sex so complicated? Do what you want with who you want if they want it too. Don’t make such a big deal out of it. Jesus.”

Wade is stock still against the wall, so he decides to push a little. Slowly, giving Wade plenty of time to react if he’s going to decide to grow a pair and back out of this, he raises his infected arm, closes it ever so carefully around Wade’s throat a finger at a time.

He pants a little at the reaction that gets him, loud and definite in the mental air between them.

“You’re into this, I can feel it.” He strokes the side of Wade’s neck with a metal thumb and watches him arch into it. “Damn you’re loud. Can’t shut off your mouth or your mind, spewing it out for anyone with ability to hear. Are you gonna be so loud for me that Al’s going to come bang on your door and tell us to shut the fuck up?”

Wade just groans, breath fast and light.

“I’m not doing this if you don’t answer the question.”

“Question. There was a question? What is the question, Alex? What is this, Jeopardy?” Wade’s talking fast and high and nervous.

“Do you want this?” He enunciates every word slowly like he’s talking to an idiot.

Wade hesitates and then gives a single quick nod. Good enough.

Cable lets go of the Wade’s neck and takes two steps back.

“Strip,” he orders. “If you wanna get fucked so bad, let me see you.”

Wade instantly moves to comply, hasty and clumsy. Nate watches him as he’s discarding his own weapons and clothes more carefully. He’s hard and erect and he lazily palms his own dick, feels a smear of slick wet from the slit, and watches Wade’s eyes track the movement and swallow convulsively. Wade isn’t hard yet, so Nate steps back into his space, circles him while letting his techno-organic hand touch. Palms a pec. Dips low to brush the root of Wade’s cock without touching the shaft. Slides over a hip and squeezes hard enough to draw a gasp. Stops behind Wade and presses up against his back, cock nestling in the cleft of Wade’s ass.

“You like to think you’re ugly, don’t you?” he asks into the top of Wade’s spine. His lips are brushing that interesting skin and his head is resting on the back of Wade’s neck. His spread hands slide forward over Wade’s hips, framing the base of his cock in an open triangle of fingers and thumbs. “Got bad news for you, handsome: I like you this way.”

“When I said yes, I didn’t mean calling me stupid things I’m not.”

“I know.” Nate is rubbing along the line where leg meets hip, feels Wade quivering under his fingertips. “You want me to humiliate you. Degrade you. Hurt you. Use you like a little slut. Tell you all the things you don’t want to hear. You want me to cruel.”

“Yes,” the other groans, pressing back against him.

“More bad news for you. I’m only doing some of those things.”

Before Wade can protest, Nate brings his hands together, one scooping to cradle Wade’s balls while the other grasps his shaft. Flesh is filling out nicely now and Nate takes his time caressing, exploring the shape of the other. Rolls the sacs in his fingers and feels the fast, needy breaths the other is taking.

Wade is stock still, not moving, like he hasn’t the slightest idea what to do with the situation, no matter how much he likes it. Maybe he’s not even sure he likes it.

“Hairless everywhere, aren’t you?” Nate purrs. “That’ll make you extra fun to fuck.” Wade whimpers. “But not yet. Right now I’m more interested in how this,” he squeezes the hard flesh in his hand, “feels.”

Without warning he shoves Wade toward the bed. A nudge of telekinesis helps turn him, topple him backwards onto the rumpled, dirty sheets. Nate stalks forward menacingly, watching Wade hurriedly scramble backward up the mattress. He crawls up after him, finally cornering him by the wall, slides his hands onto Wade’s hips to hold him still. Then dips his head with a growl to nuzzle the cock that’s bobbing in front of him, ignoring the gasp and the confusion he feels spilling out of Wade.

“Mm, just like the rest of you,” he murmurs as he presses his face to it, lets his tongue trace and lap. Explores the ridged, uneven texture. “In case you’re curious, I like your skin. All of it.”

“Nate!” Wade complains, trying and failing to buck his hips. “Seriously, cut it out!”

“No,” he growls and starts seriously worshipping Wade’s cock, never keeping one rhythm for long. Kisses. Nips. Gently mouthing the sensitive, smooth sacs below. Sliding his lips over the head and down the shaft until Wade is gasping, then pulling off again. Crooning dirtily whenever his mouth is free. Reveling in the confused want rolling off Wade.

“Yes, make noise for me, just like that. … You’re a sensitive little slut aren’t you? Whimpering just because I have your cock in my mouth. … Your dick’s gorgeous, loverboy. Hard and perfect.”

Wade’s getting too excited, too close to losing it, so he stops and yanks on Wade’s hips, pulling him back down the mattress. Kneeling over him so he can take both their dicks in his hand, rocks into it with his hips and hears Wade gasp again. “Where do you keep the lube?”

“The … uh … box under the bed,” Wade stammers, hands fisting the sheets as his hips jerk upwards.

Nate reaches with telekinesis--he’s using it too much, going to be tired later, but he doesn’t care--and slides a likely feeling shoebox out from under the cheap metal bed frame and knocks it open. Smirks. Wade has a small but perverted selection of toys stashed next to the bottle of lube. “You’ve got a filthy mind. I’m going to have fun using those on you some other time, listen to you beg me to get off.”

“Please,” Wade whimpers, and the wave of lust tells Nate that he’s onto something, that Wade _really_ likes the idea of being ass in the air with one toy or another exploring his insides.

“Later,” Nate promises, lifting the lube to where he can grab it, pops it open and pours a generous amount over his hand and both their cocks. Slicks them both and squeezes.

“Oh, that’s so fucking good,” he groans, grinding his hips into it. “Hot and wet. Is this what it’s going to feel like to fuck into a nice, tight ass?”

Wade whimpers at that and tries to spread his legs, wanton need plain and hot in Nate’s mind. He’s blocked by Nate’s thighs on each side of his own, but still rolls his hips upwards.

“Please, you said you’d fuck me, please…”

“Yeah, you’re right, I did.”

Nate lets go of their cocks, scoots upwards, grabs Wade’s again to hold it steady, and before the other can figure out what he has planned he’s lowering himself down onto slick, hard, hot flesh.

“Fuck damn,” he groans, leaning his head back and reveling in it, the push and slip as it enters him, the long slide, the grind as he bottoms out.

It’s not the kindest thing to do to his body. He hasn’t done this in a while. Prep would have been a smart idea. But damned if it isn’t worth it to see and hear and feel Wade losing his shit underneath him.

“Nate! What…you said...oh god!” For the first time, Wade’s hands are moving, clutching at Nate’s thighs like he needs something to stay afloat while the rest of his body is writhing into it.

“I said,” he says hoarsely, “that I’d fuck you and use you. I am. And you’re going to fuck me as hard as I tell you to. I’m going to ride you ‘til I’m satisfied. Understand?”

“But...but…” Wade is stuttering, his mind spewing a tangle of dark, mixed up, demeaning desire and guilt.

It’s just a guess, but…

“Your girl would want you to be happy. Not spend all your time mourning her. Definitely not spend all your time feeling too guilty and self-pitying to put your dick into anything else.”

Wade stiffens defensively and Nate smirks.

“She wouldn't want me to forget her!”

“Are you forgetting her?” He rocks and clenches. Wade groans. “Still able to remember her while you're in me?”

“Yes… but … I…” He groans again as Nate experiments with raising up and sliding back down. The emotions leaking out of him feel conflicted, fragmented, with an undercurrent of subservient frustration, unmet want.

Nate cocks his head, considers. “Are you whimpering about your ass being empty?” Spike of emotion, he’s on the right track. “Fucking me, your cock inside me, isn’t enough for you?” Emotions souring, that’s not it. “I’m not touching your ass until you prove you’re worth it.” Better. “Leave you empty and wanting while I ride you. If you fuck me hard enough, next time I’ll see about giving that hungry little hole some of what it wants.” That has Wade panting. Damn the man is fucked up. _Needs_ the demeaning things Nate’s saying to get off.

Alright. He can give him that.

Maybe he can slip in a little more than that too. Turn it into something else.

He sets a pace. Snarls at Wade to keep up, to put his back into it, harder. Groans happily when Wade finally figures out how to brace his feet on the mattress and meet the downward roll of Nate’s hips with his own upward snap.

“That’s it, loverboy, keep doing that,” he pants, leaning over Wade, hands braced on scarred skin. Wade still doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, like he wants to touch but isn’t sure he’s allowed. Nate grabs a hand, guides it to his leaking cock, wraps it around and under his own, jacks himself using Wade’s hand, growls happily at the shocks it sends along his nerves.

It’s getting harder to concentrate, he’s getting tired of doing so much of the work.

He clenches his legs around Wade’s hips and rolls. Flips them, Wade gasping in surprise and scrambling with his hands on the mattress to support himself above Nate. He pulls his knees up and gets his heels in the small of Wade’s back. Grins up nastily.

“Come on, baby. Show me what you can do.”

Finally something snaps in the other, and with a broken sounding huff of breath he grips the sheets and Nate and ruts into him viciously. Nate groans, voice low and rough.

“Harder! Jesus, yes, finally! That’s … that’s so good. You’re working this ass,” he flexes and reaches to grab two handfuls of clenching muscle, “just right. Working so hard. Such a … good boy. God your dick ... feels perfect.” His breath hitches as it is knocked out of him repeatedly.

Wade whimpers and trembles at the praise, denial and pleasure and lust twisting around him in equal, conflicted measure.

Nate arches up to murmur in Wade's ear. There’s a risk he’ll get this wrong, but he's guessing...

“I bet your girl is enjoying watching you fuck me.”

Wade sobs brokenly, “‘Ness! Nate! Oh god!” and clenches, arms wrapping around Nate’s shoulders, face buried in the join of shoulder and neck, shaking and twitching through release.

As Wade goes limp, Nate rolls them over again. He feels Wade’s softening cock slip wetly from his body as he kneels over the other’s hips, thighs spread, and shamelessly jerks himself off until he stripes Wade's stomach and chest with his come.

He stays there, panting, admiring Wade spread out beneath him, used and filthy and breathing heavily. He finally hauls himself up and off, finds a t-shirt on the floor--unclear if it’s dirty or clean--and comes back to the bed. Wade has rolled onto his side in an almost fetal curl, mind gone dark again but body language all tension and apprehension. Nate sighs, wipes himself off, and then slides onto the bed again. Spoons up behind Wade, lets his lips trail along the back of the other’s neck and shoulder as he wipes away the come and lube, then tosses the shirt off the bed and wraps his arm around Wade. He grabs the edge of the cover and yanks it up over them both, doing his best to warm Wade in body and soul.

“It’s okay, you’re alright,” he murmurs. “Take your time, no rush.” He strokes Wade’s side gently, reassuringly, repeating the words and finding others as well, “You’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, I’m here, we can talk about it whenever you’re ready,” until he feels the body against his start to relax and uncurl.

“That wasn’t what I had in mind,” Wade finally says, voice uncertain.

“I know.”

“Why?”

“You think you’ve done something unforgivable, that you need someone to punish you. But that's not the answer. You should know, you showed me. Even if we can’t forgive ourselves, there’s something in us that can still do good. Lift your eyes and look past it, past your guilt and your grief and find a way to make the rest of the world better.”

“I showed you that?”

“More or less. Maybe less. Point is, stop trying to punish yourself. By using me or otherwise.”

There's some purposeful squirming until Wade has turned over, leaving them face to face with almost no space between them.

“I thought you said you'd,” a blush rises across his cheekbones, “fuck me again.”

“Sure. Be glad to. But not to punish you.”

He lifts his hand, fits his hand against a scarred cheek in a caress. When there's no objection to that, he leans forward, lets his lips press easily to Wade's. He feels the other part his mouth eagerly and leans further into the kiss, keeping it gentle and only teasing lightly at the other’s mouth with the tip of his tongue.

Wade breaks it first, pulling away chuckling.

“What?”

“You fucked my brains out before you kissed me. What kind of fucked up order is that?”

“Wanted to see if you were worth it first.”

Wade grins again. “Guess this means I am.”

Nate curls a hand around the back of Wade's head, pulls him closer again. Just before their lips meet again he breaths, “Yes, you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, why did you people ask me for a second chapter? What have I done? What even is this?
> 
> There is a legitimate exchange between Josh Brolin and Ryan Reynolds that I plagiarized. Those two give me fits. *headdesk* “This the most scared I’ve seen you look. Do you want me to back up?” “No no no, stay stay, I like you in my space. Stay. Jump right in the pants.”


	3. Omake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never let it be said that Nate doesn't follow through on his promises. PWP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got inspired and left some porn in a comment on Chapter 2. Figured I ought to copy it into its own chapter.

Never let it be said that Nate doesn't follow through on his promises. One good turn (or fucking) deserves another, and Nate had said he'd do this to Wade. For Wade. So here they are.

"That's right," Nate murmurs softly in his ear, the puff of air making Wade shiver, "stay just like that. Because if you let go, I'm stopping."

Wade doesn't say anything, just nods, because it isn't his place to say anything just now. But he clenches his hands tighter, as if there were a chance of his ankles somehow deciding to run off without the rest of him and he needs to keep them there.

"Good boy," Nate says, sitting up and patting Wade's ass as he does so. "Ass in the air, just how we both like it." He leans in again to kiss one side, then the other, then follows it up with a hard nip and Wade gasps, muscles clenching on nothing. Nate chuckles as he kisses the bite, licks it, sucks it and Wade can feel the vibration and the pressure on his skin, driving him crazy already.

Nate pulls back a little bit. "Look at you," he murmurs, "already hard for me and I haven't even put anything inside you."

Wade moans and clenches again. The way Nate has his knees spread, face and chest and knees on the bed, he's got nothing to rub against. Nothing to get him off as Nate takes his sweet time.

"I'm planning to abuse this ass. Make you hurt so bad it's good. Make you feel so good it's bad. Tell me if you're okay with that."

"Yes, do it!" Wade gasps instantly. He knows Nate is big on communication and consent, but does he really even have to ask? Can't he tell how much Wade wants this?

There's an evil chuckle behind him. "Yeah, I feel how much you want to get fucked, but I like hearing it out loud."

Then he bites again, longer and harder until Wade whimpers, then kisses again, then licks again. Then pulls off and delivers a stinging smack right on the bite mark.

Wade yelps and jerks, grabs his ankles even tighter to make sure he doesn't accidentally let go, then moans as both Nate's hands settle on his ass, spreading it with his thumbs, and then Nate is licking into him.

It's so good, and he never knows what'll come next, whether it's the press of Nate's tongue or the suck of his mouth, fingers sliding inside to stretch him open, or teeth marking the curve of his ass or the inside of his thigh. Nate's teeth and tongue together. Or if all those things will disappear as Nate pulls back to spank him, hard and vicious and stinging. Leave him clenching and near sobbing and achingly empty.

Then he hears a buzz and suddenly there's a press of a toy against his entrance, slick and hard. He whines from sheer need and anticipation.

Nate laughs at him again and slides the toy in tortuously slow, the curves and swoops coming to rest in all the right places, long lazy vibrations lighting up his nerves in ways that are dangerously too good. And then Nate's tongue is teasing alongside the toy, pulling him open even more.

"Nate! I'm going to--" he starts to cry out.

But Nate must have felt it before Wade even said the words, because he growls, "No you're not, not yet," and something clamps down at the base of Wade's cock, physically stopping him from coming. Nate yanks the toy out too quick and then he's thrusting into Wade, vicious and full and perfect. Hips snapping against Wade's ass while Wade is crying and shaking, trying to come but unable to, overcome by everything but the feel of it and the punch of Nate's cock in his ass. He's chanting Nate's name like a curse or a prayer until suddenly the pressure is released and he's coming so hard his vision swims and he moans, high pitched and wrecked and desperate.

"Fuck, the way you think, the way you feel, the way you sound," he hears Nate groan behind him, stuttering to a stop and grinding deep as he empties himself.


	4. Pain & Pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse *looks significantly at [Vicky_Strife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/pseuds/Vicky_Strife)* and a prompt on the kink meme (" _Wade and Nate have a very intense session, followed by really sweet aftercare, Nate looking after Wade; praising him, making him comfortable, and getting him to come back out of his sub space_ ") are to blame for this.
> 
> Please check the tags to make sure it's your thing, because ... uh ... just check the tags. It's one of the more extremely kinky things I've written.
> 
> I'll admit that compared to [another fic currently being posted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732344) with D/s themes, I feel rather inadequate. But hey it was already written, so I shall post it and hope if works for someone.

Wade's been acting weird for days now, and Nate wants it to stop. And he doesn't mean weird in a Hello Kitty, My Little Pony, inappropriate sex jokes, talking-to-an-imaginary-audience kind of way. That kind of weird he’s come to accept and even kind of enjoy, even if he mostly mutters, “Jesus,” while trying not to laugh. No, this is weird in a staring into space, moping around, making increasingly self-deprecating jokes, and occasionally self harming way. Nate is thoroughly ready to be done with it.

It’s obvious what started it. As missions go, it was a clusterfuck. A bunch of things hadn’t gone right and some innocents had died in the crossfire. Unfortunately, one of those things that hadn’t gone right had been Wade ignoring a direct order because of a hunch.

Now, Wade’s hunches have a damn high rate of being correct. In the beginning he’d even wondered for a while if Wade was hiding some precognitive or telepathic mutant ability, but pretty quickly he’d seen that Wade was just actually a lot more people-savvy and a lot smarter than he liked to let on.

But this hunch? It hadn’t been right. And it put Wade out of commission when he was supposed to be providing cover with his insane blend of sword work and marksmanship.

There’d already been a shitstorm of yelling and damage control in his official X-Force capacity. The whole team had to come to terms with it, and then figure out how to do better next time. He’d had to personally make assurances to the X-Men, and that had been _fucking awkward_. (On a scale of awkwardness with a one being conflicting opinions about pizza toppings and six being when the rest of the team finds out you and Deadpool are fucking, having to own up to your own dad about your team’s culpability in civilian casualties is pretty much a ten.) But it had been done and now it was over. He’d felt the anger, the denial, the grief, and finally the acceptance so he could move on.

Unfortunately Wade is able to cling tenaciously to an issue, especially where self-condemnation is involved.

If Wade can’t let go of it on his own, Nate’s going to nudge the process along.

XXX

Wade’s easy enough to find in the shared apartment. Nate actually feels him before he sees or hears him. He’s a bundle of projected anxiety and pain, sitting loosely on the couch, arm stretched along the back and one foot crossed over the opposite knee, watching one of his shows in his civilian t-shirt and sweatpants. Or at least, his eyes are pointed at the screen, but Nate is really damn sure he’s not actually paying attention to the actors and laugh track. He’s held too tight for the seemingly relaxed pose he’s struck. It’s all off and stinks to high heaven of Wade being in all the wrong mental places.

Nate leans against the doorframe for a while, observing. When Wade gives no sign of noticing him, he makes his way over to the couch and sits down.

“Hey,” he says, and Wade startles and glances his way. “You’re being fucking loud.”

Wade’s eyes flick back to the TV. “Sorry,” he says shortly, and Nate feels him trying to get his emotions in control, feels some of the broadcast noise stamped down.

“You’re still too fucking loud. Want to talk about it? Might help.”

Wade’s hands clench on the back of the couch, in his lap. He’s quiet for a long time before saying sharply, “I fucked up. It’s my fault those people died and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“There was a lot that went wrong. Colossus was intercepted before he could get in position. Our intel was shit. But yeah, ignoring my orders didn’t help.”

Wade takes a deep breath, continues. “I mean, people die. I know that. Special forces, right? Sometimes you kill your target, sometimes your target kills you. Sometimes he kills your buddy, or you don’t get there in time and he kills someone innocent. I get it. You hate it but it happens. I get it. I ought to be over this. Why can’t I let this one go?”

Nate thinks for a minute, combing through the mental pain that’s gotten louder again as it rolls off Wade. It’s going to cause a secondhand stress headache if he lets it, so he focuses on an Askani meditation, lets his own calm wash through him. It helps, lets him touch and examine each of Wade’s projected emotions without bias, just lets them flow through him and observes. Guilt--there’s a lot of that one. Melancholy--twining under everything, with the distinct feeling of witnessed death to it. Shame--and that’s an interesting one, because it’s singularly focused and it’s not tied to the feeling of death. No, it’s tied to the feeling that he’s come to recognize as _himself_ when it comes from Wade’s mind, the tang of metal and the scent of gunpowder and spice and something sweet.

“The dead aren’t the only thing you’re focusing on.”

Wade glances sharply at him, then just as quickly looks away. Mutters, “Fucking telepath.” Takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I let you down.”

“If I’m not obsessing about it, why are you?”

Wade takes a shuddering breath and keeps his eyes averted. “I hate it, can’t stop hating myself, I didn’t listen to you and people died. I _deserve_ to be hated.”

“I don’t hate you and you sure as shit don’t deserve to be hated. But yeah, you didn’t listen.”

“And, I, uh, I want you to punish me for it.”

Nate’s eyebrows climb upward. He wasn’t expecting Wade to be so _direct_ or to realize what would help him move on: a little catharsis to work through all that guilt, give him something he’s convinced he ‘deserves’ to help him move past it. He stands and moves in front of Wade in a slow prowl that has Wade’s breathing increasing sharply and his eyes widening until he stops an arm’s length away.

“Fine. You’re right, you fucked up royally. So you want me to punish you for it?” Sharp nod. “Hurt you?” Another emphatic nod. “Fuck you?” A shrug. Up to him then. “Usual safe word?” Wade shakes his head.

“No. Do whatever you want and don’t stop.”

Nates eyebrows raise in surprise and concern and he takes a half step closer, enough to stroke the side of Wade’s neck, careful fingers over flesh and tendon below the shell of an ear. “Are you sure, baby?”

Waves of overwhelmed emotion are rolling off Wade. Yearning buried under shame. His pulse is racing and his breathing is ragged.

“Yes. I need you to fuck me up, give me what I deserve, don’t let me back out of it. I trust you.”

Nate has to close his eyes for a moment, take a deep breath. Because Wade offering himself this way, offering up all control and giving him all his trust, is heady and powerful in a way he’ll never be able to adequately describe to anyone in words.

Then he opens his eyes, drops his hand to his side. When he speaks his voice is hard. “Then get in the bedroom. Strip and kneel.”

He steps back and watches Wade stand awkwardly, hurry out of the room to comply. When he leisurely follows him to the bedroom he finds him already naked and watches him kneel carefully, head tipped down and wrists crossed behind his back. It’s so beautiful that all Nate wants to do is follow him down, kiss him until Wade moans for more. Instead he turns and walks across the room, takes his sweet time rummaging through a special drawer and retrieving just what he wants. It’s worth going slow, because he can feel fearful anticipation building behind him. Finally he returns, sets most of his finds on the bedspread and then rests his hand on Wade’s head.

For just a moment he lets them both feel this simple moment. But then he runs his hand from back to front over the top of Wade’s head, gets his fingertips on brow ridges and uses them to yank his head back.

He grins nastily and dangles his first item over Wade’s face: a ball gag, red silicone ball and black leather. All their toys are some variation of red, black, or metallic, a little tribute to Wade’s obsessive love of certain colors.

“Open up, boy. If you don’t have a safe word, then I don’t need to listen to your useless begging. And maybe if you’re spending less time running your mouth, you’ll listen to my orders better.”

Wade whimpers but opens his mouth obediently so Nate can push in the gag, carefully adjust the thin leather strap until the gag is just tight enough.

He steps away to get his next item but keeps his eyes on Wade. Watches Wade tilt his head back down submissively. God he’s so fucking beautiful this way.

The silk rope is next, so Nate goes down on one knee behind Wade. Again, he moves slow and makes sure to do it right. Rope slides around wrists to secure them, then runs upward and loops and tightens and is tied again on forearms, then again upwards to make another loop and tie around Wade’s biceps. He stands, walks around, admires the view from the front. The ropes are pulling Wade’s shoulders back, chest sticking forward. His nipples are erect and hard, more likely from fear and cold than excitement, as his cock shows no signs of interest.

Satisfied that the effect is correct, Nate goes behind Wade again, making final adjustments to the ropes. He carefully runs fingers under each section to make sure they are lying comfortably next to Wade’s skin and that nothing is too tight. The point is immobilization, not discomfort. Only when he’s completely satisfied does he get the next item off the bed.

Kneeling behind Wade, letting the hard outline of his cock nestle against Wade’s ass through his pajama pants, he wraps his arms over Wade’s shoulders. Dangles his find from his fingers.

“Look what I have.”

Wade glances up and then freezes. A whimpers makes it past the ball gag and Nate laughs, low and amused in his ear. It’s a DMC power inhibitor collar, one he’s gotten Domino to guess the combo for. He’s not above keeping some of the collars around for rogue mutants … or for special occasions. Obviously the collar unbalances the stalemate between Wade’s healing factor and his cancer, but the cancer is thankfully only human and grows at human speeds. There is time, up to several hours, before Wade will start feeling discomfort from it. 

“You want me to hurt you? Then let’s get rid of that healing factor so you keep feeling it. Still trust me?”

Only once Wade nods jerkily does Nate move, snapping the collar around Wade’s neck and then taking a moment to press his face into the skin above the bulky, inconvenient thing and just breathe and savor. Breathe in the scent of Wade, relish the unaccustomed feel of Wade’s mind, suddenly open and naked. The temptation to just dive in and twine their thoughts together is strong. But it’s not want Wade needs right now. He stands.

“Get up. And go kneel on the bed. I don’t feel like making my knees stiff fucking disobedient trash like you on the carpet.”

The thought is clear in Wade's head, _wouldn't want to hurt your old man knees_ , so he delivers a stinging slap to Wade's ass as he stands, smirks at the muffled yelp.

“Watch your disrespectful thoughts, boy,” he says mildly end enjoys the rolling wave of _oh shit the collar telepath oh shit oh shit oh shit_ that then settles into an obfuscating mental chant of _banana banana banana banana oh shit banana_. He waits until Wade is on the bed to make his next move, gently sliding a hand from Wade’s shoulder down to his wrists. He feels Wade relaxing into the contact and suddenly gives a hard shove to his bound arms. Wade topples forward on his face with a spike of panicked adrenaline.

“Ass up,” he commands. Watches Wade wiggle and squirm to comply. “Closer to me,” he clarifies, hooks his fingers in the wrist restraints and tugs to make his meaning clear. Wade scoots as best he can on his face and chest and knees until his feet are hanging off the end of the bed. “Stop,” Nate says in a bored tone, and then gives the ass presented to him an exploratory smack on first one side and then the other.

He stands back and admires the two handprints blooming in red and, best yet, _lingering_. “Spread your legs more,” he decides. “Show me everything I get to abuse.”

And then he nearly laughs in delight, because Wade _hesitates_ , apprehension in his thoughts getting in the way of instant compliance. He’s on the bed in an instant, TO hand clamping on the back of Wade’s neck, letting the grip dig painfully tight.

“Did I seriously just see you _not obey me instantly?_ ” he snarls. “Aren’t you the one who just asked me to punish him for _not listening?_ ”

Wade makes a panicked, muffled sound that still clearly comes across as _Sorry!_

Nate just digs his fingers in a little harder. “Listen to me, you piece of shit. Drill this into your head. ‘If Nate says to do something, I do it. Even if I'm afraid. Even if I don't like it. _Especially_ if I'm in the field and he's in charge.’ No questioning. No thinking. You _act._ Got it?”

A frantic nod and something that might have been _Yes sir!_ answers him.

“Alright.” He slowly releases Wade, watches the white indentations of his fingers slowly pink up with blood flow again. Slides back off the bed. “We'll try this again. Spread your legs and prove you're listening, or I'm getting a spreader bar.”

Wade whimpers and Nate see his cock twitch as he shifts his knees further apart.

“Good boy,” Nate says, sliding his hand between Wade's legs to fondle his cock and balls, squeezing the later hard enough to have Wade tensing in discomfort. He increases the pressure, feeling Wade getting closer and closer to the point of _too much_ , trying to keep himself from pulling away. Just before getting there he releases and feels the other's sweeping relief. “You will stay like that, so I can get to these, or you'll regret it.”

He stands, raises a hand, and starts warming up Wade's ass. Spanks methodically, meticulously, with a deliberate disregard for Wade's muffled reactions--he knows the other can take this--until every bit of his ass is red, practically glowing. Honestly it’s a nice release, because Wade really was a little shit on the mission and Nate feels his frustration bubbling anew, no matter how much he thought he was over it. He lands one last, stinging smack and smirks at the muffled yelp and jerk. Then he pauses, hands running appreciatively over warm flesh.

“Your ass is your favorite color,” he says approvingly, giving the cheeks a loving pat. He feels Wade’s mind running a jumbled mantra of _thank you_ and _please more, sir_ and _banana banini banoonoo_. “More?” he muses, tracing a finger down the crack of Wade’s ass, brushing over his asshole, his seam of his balls that are drawn up tight. “Of course. I’m curious to see what other colors you can turn.”

There’s a lovely little spike of combined fear and anticipation from Wade as he turns to his supplies. The three eights inch rattan cane is his goal; the unfinished surface fits snugly in his hand, feels like an extension of his arm. He feels the power in it, especially as he lightly drags it across Wade’s ass and sees him flinch, feels excitement and apprehension churning together so closely that it’s like second-hand nausea in the pit of his stomach.

It’s a little odd, how much power it feels like he’s holding right now, especially given the kind of munitions he uses every day. There’s nothing in his hand but a length of wood fiber. But it gives him a kind of thrill his BFG (as Wade has lovingly named it) never does. That’s a tool. And so is this, but it’s a different kind of tool entirely, one that’s going to leave marks a lot more intimate than his gun ever does.

Nate idly drags the tip of the cane back across Wade’s ass, along the line between buttocks and leg, down the inside of his thigh, “Remember, I’m doing this because you were a disobedient piece of shit. So you’re going to keep your ass in the air. Open just like this.” He gives a tap to Wade’s balls for emphasis, just enough to make him jolt. He knows Wade would prefer to be bent over something or flat on the bed, but he is making a _point_ , damn it. “Prove you can listen, baby. Make me proud.”

And goddamn, he _feels_ Wade’s reaction slam into him so hard he has to close his eyes and take a steadying breath. Letting his shields down this far, letting in the unfiltered thoughts around him, is something he doesn’t do often. Something he _shouldn’t_ do, both for his personal sanity and the privacy of others. But like this, with Wade, he lets them drop. _Needs_ to let them drop, because if Wade is giving himself over completely, then it’s Nate’s job to know when the other has had enough.

So he feels Wade, shame and desperate desire to please rolled together, _want_ so fierce it almost hurts. _Make Nate proud, make Nate proud, make Nate proud_ , in his head like a mantra.

He’s sure their relationship isn’t healthy. Two people shouldn’t need each other this badly, need the ebb and flow of desire and pain and comfort like this.

But damned if he’s going to stop.

He lands the first sharp blow, lets the solidness of the cane sink in for a second before dragging it across the skin and lifting it. He filters out most of Wade’s reaction so it doesn’t overwhelm him, but he still feels the burning line, sensation searing through Wade’s flesh and then radiating outward in spreading heat. Feels Wade doing his best to hold still and not jerk away.

He doesn’t go too fast, waits until the blow is settled and then makes another. And another. Chains them together in a steady rhythm of pain and pleasure. On the tenth stroke he lets the rattan hit, bounce, and then land immediately in a double stroke and chuckles as Wade writhes under it. He feels how badly Wade wants to run from it, how badly he wants to lean into it, and how’s he caught between sensation and desire and the need to please Nate, to show Nate he can be good.

Pausing and stepping closer he runs his hand gently over the red and purple lines blooming across ass and trembling thighs. “Look at you,” he murmurs, “being so good for me, marked up so pretty. How’s it feel to have these stay put?” He drags a thumbnail along one welt and Wade jerks and keens into the gag, muffled and desperate.

He scoops his other rattan cane off the bed, a simple and slender thing only a quarter inch in diameter. It doesn't have the impact, the ability to bruise, that the bigger cane has, but that's the point. A wrist flick lays a slim line across one of Wade's barely-visible nipples, causing him to jerk in surprise more than pain. He circles slowly around Wade, trailing the tip of the cane sensually from target to target between strikes, sides and back and soles of the feet, giving Wade all the benefits and drawbacks of warning and anticipation about where the next switch hit will land, touching and then flicking one tender, sensitive spot after another.

He pauses behind Wade and traces slowly up his thigh with the thin cane until he slides it across Wade's balls, tracing the seam, lifting first one side and then the other. Wade's breath is going ragged and he's trembling, mind screaming at Nate.

“You really don't like it here, do you?” Nate muses, gently tapping one side of the scrotum. “I've seen you get shot in the balls and grow ‘em back, bitching the whole time. But the idea of me hurting you here? You don't want that at all, do you?” Wade doesn't bother shaking his head, doesn't even bother thinking an answer. But he doesn't have to; it's right there for Nate to read in the tension of his body and in his mind. He's forcing himself to stay still for Nate, even though his mind is screaming against it, gibbering and begging for mercy.

“What a good boy, willing to give me everything” he murmurs, lets his approval fill the words with dark, rumbling heat.

He pulls back, but instead of using the thin cane, it's the thick one in his other hand that he lands right on Wade's sweet spot. It's a space a few inches tall on his ass where Nate has found blows transform directly to pleasure. He's been avoiding it all this time, giving Wade the bite of pain instead, but now he works that spot with a series of carefully strokes, sinking his force into the flesh, letting the impact of it vibrate right to Wade's hole.

And Wade whines, drawn out and high pitched and almost delirious at the first hit. By the fifth, he's twitching and breathing heavily through his nose, drooling around the gag, and glassy eyed. He's surrendered to the pain as pleasure, to the warmth running curling up his spine and down to his toes, filling him with ecstacy.

Nate can't take it anymore and tosses the canes aside in favor of grabbing the lube. He slicks Wade quickly and efficiently, shucks off his pajamas, manhandles Wade a little further onto the bed and pushes in.

Wade's hot, almost feverish, clenching around his dick. Nate watches himself sink in, watches his hips slap against Wade's abused ass with every thrust, hears Wade's mind whimpering at the good and bad, the dichotomy of it. He chuckles at the whimpers, lets himself revel in this sadistic pleasure for now, even as he slides his thoughts against Wade's, makes sure that _too much_ never quite arrives. 

Wade's sprawled under him, tied and helpless and pliant to every touch, acquiescing to every need he has, mind laid bare and begging. It's the sweetest thing, hitting all his senses, a combination of sight and feel and sound and mind he knows is going to stay with him far longer than this evening. It’s perfect.

He grabs Wade and pulls him upright, settling backward to cradle the taller man in his lap. Shudders when he feels Wade's pleasure as his cock is dragging over Wade's prostate on every trust. He pinches both of Wade's nipples and tugs sharply, desperately, as it builds for both of them. Whispers, “Come with me,” and then bites the back of Wade's shoulder. He drives in and holds there, shudders through it even as Wade's hips are twitching forward helplessly, stays there with him until they both relax from the tension of release to the looseness of afterward.

Nate moves before he’s truly ready, but he needs to take care of Wade. The other is gently tipped forward onto the bed and Nate goes about checking the rope, running his fingers under it everywhere to make sure it's still lying right. Only when he's satisfied does he unbuckle the gag and gently massage Wade’s stiff jaw. Wade just makes an unintelligible noise, eyes closed and not ready to talk yet, and if there’s a higher compliment to Nate’s skills than being able to make Wade Winston Wilson shut up for five minutes, he doesn’t know what it is. Although he’s hoping to keep him quiet even longer than this.

He looks down, at where his cock has slipped out of Wade, and Jesus what a sight. Slick and cum mixed together, asshole pink and gaping. He grabs the lube and squeezes more into his left hand. Leans down over Wade, weight supported by his right hand so that he can kiss the back of the scarred neck and the bite mark, like a tattoo of purple dots and curves on the skin.

“What a good boy,” he murmurs, other hand teasing at Wade’s hole. “You took your punishment like a champ. Guess you _do_ know how to listen. Now you’re going to get your reward.”

Wade whimpers in a questioning tone, then gasps, “Oh fuck!” as Nate presses in very carefully with two metal fingers. It’s not exactly like the sensations he gets with the flesh and blood part of his body, but he still gets feedback from the techno-organic parts, and he can tell the metal is a good deal cooler than Wade’s heat. He feels it driving Wade crazy already. He doesn’t know why, but Wade seems to have a fetish for the techno-organic virus and his augmentations. Very little gets him hotter than being fingered open with Nate’s left hand, panting and whining and spouting Terminator references the whole time. (And comparing him to Colossus and someone called Bucky Barnes, which Nate does his best to ignore.) But Nate’s got something more intense in mind than simple fingering.

“Baby,” he chuckles darkly, “Forget fucking. I’m going to shove my whole hand up your ass and watch you lose your goddamn mind.”

He’s pretty sure Wade’s eyes roll back into his head and he nearly comes on the spot, but Nate quite deliberately keeps his fingers off Wade’s prostate and doesn’t give him the second release yet. He just lets the uncoordinated half-mental and half-verbal litany of _please, Nate, please_ and _more_ wash over him while he plays with Wade's loose, messy hole.

He has to be careful, because Wade still has the collar on. Usually he can be rough and if Wade tears a little, well, the healing factor takes care of it. But right now he is mindful of the ridges and joints on his fingers as he slides out just enough to add a third. The metal of his fingers and palm fits smoothly together, disturbingly human in shape and operation, only the smallest grooves between components, and with care he can slide smoothly and safely inside.

Wade is panting and making little moaning noises of obvious pleasure, so he doesn't waste any time adding a fourth finger.

“Oh fuck,” Wade breathes quietly as Nate very slowly and deliberately pushes inward, until the base of his thumb is pressed against against Wade's rim.

Nate just holds there while biting and sucking on his mark, darkening it and adding to it. He hears Wade whimpering and feels his mind cycling helplessly between the sensations, overwhelming input from teeth and tongue and hand, pain and stretch, supple and wet and hard.

Then he very slowly, very carefully pulls back, lets the press of Wade's body push him free with an obscene, slick sound. Wade gives a bereft, whimpered sob and a shudder shakes him from head to toe. Nate almost shudders too, because he feels second-hand the loss, the emptiness, the _need_ that runs through his lover. 

“Roll over,” Nate orders as he sits back on his heels and grabs the lube again.

Wade moves immediately and obediently, deadly grace lost for this evening and all shaking limbs and jerky movements, especially since he's still hindered by the rope and has to roll and scoot awkwardly. Nate lets a little smile, a _fond_ smile, tug at his mouth as he strokes Wade's thigh soothingly.

“Let me see,” he says, and Wade lets his thighs fall wider apart. Nate still feels a trembling tension in the muscles under his hand, so he slides his fingers in again, slow and easy, and feels Wade melt under him.

It's a slow, intimate thing, so far removed from fucking and yet possibly even better. He watches his hand slowly disappear into Wade's body until his thumb can trace firm circles on Wade's perineum--holds and presses--and just as slowly withdraws to see Wade stretched open for him. It's like the slow ebb and surge of the ocean, Wade relaxing mindlessly and all tension draining out of him the instant he feels metal digits touch and enter him, then a building shudder as he feels Nate sliding back out, until he's shaking from the emptiness of it. Nate keeps repeating it until neither of them can stand much more of the waves of sensory overload, until Wade's shuddering is shaking his whole body and he's making a whining, mindless noise every time Nate withdraws.

“Alright, baby,” Nate warns, “I'm adding the thumb. You _will_ tell me if it hurts. That's an order,” he adds angrily, when he feels Wade discard concern for himself without even taking the time to consider it. His right hand tightens near-painfully on Wade's thigh. “‘Do what Nate says’ means even when it's ‘only’ about your own safety, dumbass.”

“Sorry,” Wade whimpers and Nate feels his shame at having let Nate down again, feels it start to curl in and sour the bliss.

“I know you're trying,” he says, petting Wade's leg reassuringly, and leans down and sucks Wade's dick into his mouth. It's not particularly hard--this is a different sort of pleasure that they’re playing with--but Wade still arches predictably and gasps. A minute of Wade being fucked upward into Nate's mouth and downward onto Nate's fingers erases any other thoughts on his mind, smooths everything back out to bliss and surrender.

Only then does Nate curl his thumb to his palm and slowly, carefully press inside, pressure steady and unrelenting until the point where it disappears, where the slide turns easy and perfect, pulling him in.

He has to be careful because of the metal plates that start just above his wrist, shaping his arm in a veneer of normality, so he runs the finger of his other hand carefully around Wade’s rim, making sure nothing is catching, easing deeper into him.

Wade is gone, checked out, no longer coherent, eyes closed and head flopped back, just a mess of involuntary little sounds and gasps, _ah_ and _oh_ , short and breathless and high pitched. He rocks into him, gentle thrusting more than enough for Wade’s pleasure.

“Jesus, look at you. Wish you could see yourself,” he pants hoarsely, and realizes he sounds almost as fucked up as Wade. “You’re gorgeous. Want me to tell you how my arm looks, all this metal looks, sliding inside you?”

“ _Nate_ ,” Wade whispers, “ _please_.”

And Nate understands. Stops just standing on the outside of Wade’s mind, looking in, and steps inside. Twines his thoughts in between Wade’s, lets his own lust meet and be tripled by what Wade feels and by his desperate surrender. Lets Wade see through his eyes, see the pull and stretch of his rim against battle-scarred metal, the wet shine of lube and come rubbed into the cables and grooves and lines, the way his face is beautiful when slack and fucked out and scars be damned, they don’t matter, they never matter. Nate twists his hand and presses up, lets them both see the skin of Wade’s stomach move with his thrusts, and it’s over. Wade fucking convulses, crying out wordlessly as his cock shoots and white pools on his stomach on top of the bulge that proves how deep Nate is in him. And Nate groans and shakes too, pulled along by Wade, comes utterly untouched on the bed between his thighs, orgasm deeper and wider and vaster than anything possible from one mind and body alone.

Somehow he manages not to fall over. Somehow he manages to ease out of Wade. He accidentally knocks over several things in the bathroom with shaky telekinesis before grabbing several towels and hauling them toward the bed.

Wade is boneless and easy to roll with gentle hands, but the ropes are harder to untie, and he finally resorts to using telekinesis to loosen the knots, shaking hands pulling the twists and loops free. Then he’s finally free to collapse on the bed beside Wade.

They’re … well … a shower is definitely in the future, but right now Nate contents himself with wiping Wade as clean as he can, then himself. Once they’re as good as they’re going to get right now, even if a bit sticky, Nate nestles Wade in his arms. He wonders how soon Wade is going to start making jokes about _little spoon thinking it can be big spoon_. He touches Wade’s consciousness carefully and finds he’s retreated, like a small ball of _Wadeness_ in the center of his mind. As he rubs his hands over Wade’s arms and shoulders, chasing stiffness away, he’s also petting at that little ball of identity in Wade’s head, whispering _it’s alright_ and _time to come back_ and _I’m proud of you, you were fucking amazing_.

When he feels thoughts uncurling out of that vulnerable, closed-off place he starts using words too.

“We’re done, baby. Time to come back. You were a good boy, did everything I told you to do. Fuck, you were so gorgeous.” He bends his head to kiss the angry bite mark on the back of Wade’s shoulder. “I love you marked up like this, but I’m going to take the collar off now.”

“Wait!” Wade gasps hoarsely.

Wade is suddenly squirming around to face him. He looks anxious, uncertain, hesitant. So Nate does what he would normally do with anyone other than Wade: he reaches with his mind to find the problem.

A dull ache in his arms, his backside, his shoulder. A delicious, lingering feeling of muscles and nerves blasted past their usual threshold of pleasure into something indescribable. Pain and nausea starting to spike from his spine and stomach and other places where the cancer is enthusiastically growing. Pain and pleasure everywhere in his body. But more than any of that, a hesitant anxiety, a swirling mix of doubt and fear, longing and passion in his mind.

_made a mistake_

_what if I fuck up again?_

_love him so much_

_I want_

_I'll going to mess it up_

_too much_

_will he….? does he …?_

_shouldn't love someone like me_

_I can't …_

Nate gently cups Wade's cheek in his hand. “Yeah,” he says gruffly, “you're going to fuck up again. So will I. So will everyone else. We're only human. But we'll get through it.”

And he knows why Wade said ‘wait.’ Because saying it's okay is all very nice, but proving you mean it, laying yourself bare … that's something else.

He leans in and kisses Wade, lets his love and acceptance, and, yes, occasional frustration too, flow between then. No sugar coating, just truth. Fucked up missions, mistakes he's made and ones he's seen from Wade, frustration and self-loathing and acceptance and peace. Or at least as close to peace as he can get. Because no matter how many times he meditates on ‘What is, is,’ allowing oneself that kind of acceptance is still a battle against human nature. He's not perfect at it.

But he's good enough at it to accept Wade, accept his love for Wade, with all his violence and crazy and flaws … and kindness and laughter and goodness and everything else that draws him to the other man.

He doesn't know how much of that makes it to Wade because while he's had decades of practice sorting out the meaning in the whirlpool of someone else's feelings, memories, and thoughts, Wade hasn't.

It seems to be enough though, because he feels the clutch of Wade's hands, wetness on Wade's cheeks, relief and joy blossoming as self-doubt fades. When he pulls back to look, the other is smiling and blinking through the tears on his cheeks. It's such a vulnerable sight that he feels a twinge of guilt at pushing him so far, followed by a surge or determination to make it up to him.

He leans in to kiss him roughly while he reaches behind Wade's neck, pops the latch on the collar by feel and enters the code. (6942. Neena had laughed her ass off as soon as she'd picked it up, then passed it over with a smirk and, “It's perfect for you and Wade.” He had only fantasized _briefly_ about wiping her memory.)

Wade gives a little sigh into his mouth, and Nate catches the feeling of pain receding before Wade is gone, only a Wade-shaped shadow in his telepathic landscape. He kisses harder, fierce and desperate as Wade hums into the kiss, and he’s already wishing he could snap the collar back on Wade's neck, sink his fingers and mind into his lover inside and out, know all of him with a desperate, thorough intimacy.

Finally Nate reluctantly parts and props himself up on an elbow, pets Wade's flank while eyeing him appraisingly.

“How're you feeling?”

“Fine,” Wade says, but he sounds defensive. Nate knows Wade isn’t feeling uncertainty about where they stand, so he guesses at another source.

“‘Fine’ as in ‘I'm fine’ or ‘fine’ as in ‘I feel fine and healed and I hate it’?”

“I’ll take what's behind door number two,” Wade replies with false cheer.

Nate considers him for long seconds, then climbs off the bed with a short, “I'll be back.” It takes him a couple minutes before he returns. The sight that greets him is Wade curled in on himself, knees drawn up to his chest and clearly moping.

With an affectionate sigh, Nate goes to work. Wade is bundled upright in a blanket and an extra large mug of hot cocoa piled with a frankly disturbing number of mini marshmallows is pressed into his hands. While Wade is still blinking in confusion at the drink, Nate slides onto the bed behind him, wrapping his arms around him and settling his chin on his blanket-covered shoulder.

“Now how're you feeling?”

“Um. About the same?”

“Mm,” Nate intones thoughtfully. He tugs a little, gets Wade to lean back against him. “Well, I want you to let me take care of you.”

“Really?” Wade says in an incredulous tone, although he's shifting against Nate and settling, relaxing against his chest and eating a couple marshmallows off the top. “Why should I do that?”

Nate presses a light kiss to Wade's neck. “Session like that? It’d fuck with most people's bodies for days. It's not your fault you don't bruise. I'd like to treat you like you did. Make it more real for both of us. Plus your brain,” he shifts to gently tap the side of Wade's head, “doesn't process any faster than the rest of us. Just … relax. Let it be okay. And tell me what you liked. What you didn’t like.”

“Next time, I want you to put that collar on me and fuck my head until I can't think straight. Vulcan mind meld with me, baby! You be Spock. I'll. Be. Kirk! See, dramatic pauses and everything, I'm a natural.”

Nate sighs in fond exasperation. “Noted. What about _this_ time?”

“All of it,” Wade replies instantly. “Liked all of it.”

“Are you sure?” Nate cocks an eyebrow and palms Wade through the blankets. “You seemed pretty uncertain about abuse to your balls.”

Wade takes a shuddering breath, head falling further back on Nate’s shoulder and knees involuntarily lolling to the sides. Nate notices the mountain of marshmallows shifting as Wade’s hands tremble.

“Hey, don’t blame the boys. They’re sensitive guys,” he breathes.

“Want to declare them off limits?”

“No! No. I. It’s complicated. I want…” He swallows, then speaks quietly. “I want you to be in charge. Whatever you want.”

“It's okay to have limits,” Nate says just as quietly. “I’m not with you because I want to torture you. Yeah, we both get off on this,” with a vague wave of his hand that seems to encompass both of them, the bedroom, the discarded canes and ropes and other things. “I have power issues and you like giving it up. I like dishing out punishment and you like taking it.” Wade shivers against him, so Nate presses another quick kiss to his neck. “Point is, we should both enjoy it. All of it.”

“We’re kind of fucked up,” Wade says softly.

“Nah. Your crazy just matches my crazy,” Nate replies. It’s something Wade says to him sometimes, with a wistful little expression that tells Nate it’s probably sometime from his time with Vanessa. He’s not quite sure if he should use the phrase, but a little chuckle from Wade tells him it’s accepted without rancor.

“Fine. My boys say, keep your sadistic hands off them.”

“Tell your boys I’ll play nice,” Nate promises. “But the rest of you is fair game,” he adds, smoothing his hand over Wade’s chest and up to his neck, getting a little tingle of pleasure from the way Wade arches into it.

“Good thing I'm used to taking damage,” Wade breathes.

“Yeah,” Nate agrees, then goes back to just a comforting embrace. “But not today. Pampering you, remember?”

“I'm a merc, not a princess,” Wade snorts into his cocoa mug. “Don’t need pampering,” he adds, but the fact that he’s practically melting back into Nate’s arms contradict the words. “Although, no offense to princesses, because most of those Disney girls kick serious butt and if Disney buys Fox there's no telling what kind of crossovers they'll do. I wonder if I'll get a red dress?”

“And a tiara. You're such a fucking princess,” Nate snorts.

“I'm not! … Okay, maybe I am. But only on days when I wear the wig and heels while I off people.”

Nate chuckles, with a light squeeze of the blankets. “Do you want to watch one of your movies?”

Wade gasps in excitement. “Really? I figured I was just going to get a sticker. ‘Good for you!’ Or ‘Super job!’ Oh, I know! ‘I got fisted by my hot cyborg boyfriend, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.’”

“I’ll get you one of those custom made for you,” Nate chuckles. “And yes. Tell me what movie you want and I'll get it ready. Although,” he adds significantly, “we're both showering first.”

“Are you going to suds me up with the My Little Pony body wash?”

“Sure.”

“Shower sex?” Wade asks hopefully.

“I’m pretending your ass is sore and fucked out, remember?”

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Wade teases.

Nate growls and squeezes tighter, because the unbidden fantasy image--holding Wade against the shower wall by the back of the neck, hole puffy and sloppy around his cock--certainly appeals to him, and he feels his dick twitch with interest. Too bad he just got off twice in one hour and doesn’t have Wade’s insanely short refractory period.

“Next time I'm leaving the damn collar on and taking you up on that. This time, how about I blow you instead?”

“The T-800 on its knees? Yes, please!”

Nate snorts and slides off the bed, takes the mostly empty mug away from Wade and sets it on a nightstand, and then bends and grabs Wade, pulling and lifting simultaneously. Wade exclaims and quickly wraps his legs around Nate's waist, grabbing one each of flesh and metal shoulders for support.

“Whoa! Don't hurt yourself, mini-Cable,” he grins down.

“Where the fuck do you get this idea that I ought to be taller?” Nate is pretending to glare, but the corners of his mouth are twitching in amusement.

“It's not my fault your comics incarnation is six foot eight!”

“Babe, I swear a quarter of the time I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“But you love me anyway,” Wade says, crossing his arms loosely around the back of Nate's neck and leaning forward.

Nate tips his head back to meet the descending lips and kiss him long and slow and gentle.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”


End file.
